She licked heavily rouged lips. “I hated school, hated home. So I left both of them. I’m seventeen, that’s old enough to do what I want. It’s my life, isn’t it?”
Seventeen. Same age as Leonora. But what a difference between the two of them. Cindy—smart, rouged, and worldly. Leonora—soft and beautiful, untouched and innocent.
“You seen Catto around?” he asked.
“Catto!” Pinky Banana spat the name out in disgust. “What a dummy! Still suckin’ mommy’s milk.”
“Whatcha mean?”
“I mean he’s a friggin’ pain. Doesn’t know what’s good for him. Still workin’ the garbage dumps with his old man. And that’s what he calls clean money. I don’t bother with him no more.”
“I want to dance,” Cindy demanded.
“In a minute.”
“Now.”
Pinky Banana gave an embarrassed grin. “So, all right, now.”
Gino watched them onto the tiny dance floor. His eyes darted around the room. The place was full. Fat Larry was over in the corner with a man Gino recognized as Eddie the Beast. Several other known hoods were dotted around the place. It shouldn’t be too hard to get himself connected.
He sipped at his scotch whisky and watched Pinky Banana and Cindy. She was putting on some sort of show, wiggling her ass and sticking out her tits. Still a tease. Still pretty. But however pretty, it wasn’t going to bother him. He had Leonora, and she was better than all of them put together.
The next day Gino stopped by to see Catto. He lived in a dilapidated tenement building, sharing three rooms with his mother, father, and four younger brothers and sisters. Gino had always been welcomed at their house. “Mrs. Bonnio.” He kissed the careworn woman. “Is Catto home?”
“Gino! When you get back?”
“Only yesterday. I bin in San Francisco.”
“I thought you bin in jail—bad boy!” She gave him an affectionate pat and raised her voice. “Catto! Catto! Come and see who we got here! You stay for dinner?”
Catto came sloping in, bringing the familiar faint stink of old forgotten garbage with him. “Gino! You crazy bum!” He embraced his friend. “We all missed ya.”
Gino returned the embrace. The smell of garbage had never bothered him; he had grown up with it.
Dinner was a family affair, and Gino felt right at home. Later he and Catto took a walk. They talked of old times; then Gino asked, “What’s happening with Pinky? He looks like he’s flush. How come he’s out makin’ it and you’re still haulin’ shit?”
Catto’s face hardened. “You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“You know what Pinky does to look so flush?”
“If I knew I wouldn’t be askin’.” But before Catto replied, he suddenly knew, and he was right.
“He kills people,” Catto said blankly. “For money. They offer him five hundred bucks to do away with you—and you’d better believe it, you’re gone.”
Gino was silent. He wasn’t shocked. Violence had always been a part of his life. But Pinky Banana… a killer? It was hard to believe.
“Shit,” spat Catto, “I don’t see him no more—an’ if you’re smart you’ll do the same.”
Gino was smart all right. But a friend was a friend. And who knew what the future held and when a friend might come in handy?
The old man coughed and spat phlegm into a crumpled handkerchief.
Gino did not look up from his writing. Laboriously he was copying the words he had had the old man write out for him: My dearest Leonora, my dearest love.
It was the fourth letter he had written her in so many weeks. Ashamed of his lack of education, he had gone to the old man, Mr. Pulaski, for help with his spelling and punctuation. Mr. Pulaski had the room above Gino, so it was a convenient arrangement. It cost him only a few dollars and saved him much embarrassment. Plus the fact that the sessions were teaching him plenty.
Leonora had written him two replies. Beautifully scripted letters on pink scented notepaper which he kept on him at all times. Costa had also written him, begging him to heed the talk he had had with Franklin the day he left San Francisco. Gino remembered it well. Franklin had taken him into his study and given him a lecture on what he should do with his life: crime does not pay, etc., etc.
Crime did pay. Gino knew this for a fact. Since returning to New York he had been able to add another two thousand dollars to his safe deposit box. And all he had done was drive the getaway car on a bank job and been wheelman on a fur loft robbery. Two easy jobs which he had checked out very very carefully, because the last thing he needed in his life was to go back to jail.
His reputation was growing as being one of the smartest and best wheelmen in town. He could handle a car like he could handle a woman—expertly. But his ambition was not to make his fortune behind the wheel of a car. Too dangerous and out in the open. What he really wanted was to get into the bootlegging action where all the real money was. Men like Meyer Lansky, Bugsy Siegel, and most of all Lucania were his idols. They had set off with beginnings not much better than his own, and look at them now.
“You have finished?” the old man inquired.
“Yeh.” He sealed the envelope with a flourish and fished into his back pocket for money.
“Same time next week?”
“Of course.”
“Your young lady, she is a lucky one.”
“You think so?” He was pleased.
“Not many young men write letters like you do.”
“Yeh?” He grinned. “It’s simple, pops. I love her.”
The old man clicked his false teeth. “It is admirable to be in love. My wife and I were married for sixty-two years until she passed away….” His voice quivered. “She was tired…. It was for the best…. I visit her grave every week.”
Gino reached into his back pocket and took out an extra two dollars. “Buy her some flowers from me, pop.”
“Thank you.” The old man was grateful. “She always liked lilies. They were her favorite flowers.”
“Hey, that’s good.” He left, bouncing down the street with his customary swagger. Writing to Leonora always gave him an extraordinary high. And besides, the great Lucania had requested his presence. It could only mean that things were looking up.
This time the meet was not in the back of a Cadillac but in Fat Larry’s—the front part, where Lucania sat spooning a dish of Italian ice cream, and Eddie the Beast and another couple of hoods kept watchful eyes.
“Sit down, join me.” Lucania was friendly but to the point. He was once again on the lookout for loyal recruits, and he wondered if Gino would care to become a part of his organization.
Gino was flattered, of course, although he knew he was only one of many that day who would be offered the chance to pledge alliance to the great Lucania. “I got my own plans,” he hedged.
Lucania raised an eyebrow. “It’s good to have ambition, just as long as you don’t get in anyone’s way.”
“Naw.” Gino shook his head. “My plans are very simple.”
Yes. His plans were simple. He wanted a bootlegging empire all his very own.
And he thought he knew the best way to go about getting it.
Aldo Dinunzio got out of jail fighting mad.
Gino was waiting for him. “You got connections, I got ideas.”
“Don’t talk business. I want to get that bitch that got me locked away.”
“Yeh, of course. But how can you be sure it was her?”
“The fuck I’m sure!” bellowed Aldo. “You wanna come with me, let’s go.”
He accompanied Aldo, hoping to prevent him from doing anything he would regret. Aldo was important to him. He certainly didn’t want him getting flung back into jail. Aldo’s cousin, Enzio Bonnatti, had become a real big man in Chicago, and this was the connection that Gino figured would work.
Aldo had found out the bitch was called Barbara and worked in a bank. She lived with her parents and brother in a small neat
house in Little Italy and was engaged to a policeman. “A fuckin’ cop,” Aldo screamed. “I break his balls too!”
They went to the bank, waited outside at closing time, and one by one Aldo questioned the female employees as they left. “You Barbara Riccaddi? You? You?”
He had questioned six girls by the time she arrived. She was tall, with brown hair and freckles. She wore glasses and a longish skirt. She answered Aldo’s question with a sharp, “Yes, I am. And I suppose you’re Aldo Dinunzio. I’ve heard what you want to do to me, and let me tell you this….”
Aldo was hit with a barrage of abuse the like of which he had never heard before. When she had finished, she stalked off, nose in the air, unfrightened and triumphant.
“Sweet Jesus!” Aldo exclaimed. “Now that’s what I call a real woman!”
Fortunately for Gino, Aldo Dinunzio now wanted to make his fortune too.
Carrie
1928
The problem was keeping Whitejack at a distance.
Only it wasn’t really a problem because Carrie found that she had no real strong burning desire to keep him at a distance at all. Why should she? Just because he was marked and stamped Personal Property of Madam Mae? So what? Big deal. The last person that made Carrie shiver and shake in her spike heels was Madam Mae. Big fat old whore. She must be hitting forty any day now—and that was old.
Besides, Carrie was getting a little sick and tired of handing half of what she made over to the house. She needed to break away. And to break away properly she needed Whitejack.
Of course, he only made moves when Madam Mae was out or otherwise occupied. “Where’s your balls, big man?” Carrie challenged him one day in the parlor. “You frightened Big Mama gonna cut ’em off?”
Whitejack grinned. He had a fine set of teeth, marred only by a solid gold one in the middle, result of an early fight with Madam Mae. They had been together ten years—ever since he had celebrated his twentieth birthday in a whorehouse and been entertained by her. There had been no looking back. Now this hot little Carrie cunt was messing with his mind. She was still skinny as a starved rabbit, but with the greatest pair of jugs this side of Harlem. And what the big F did all her johns keep running back for? What she have down there trapped between those skinny thighs? A long hot shaft kept on telling him he just had to find out for himself.
“My balls my business,” he said smoothly. “An’ my-oh-my, ain’t you developed yourself a mouth since you here. Six months ago I remember a scrawny little chick couldn’t say boo to nuthin’ or no one.”
She stretched. “A mouth ain’t all I developed, big man. I guess I be thinkin’ of movin’ on soon.”
“You told Madam Mae?”
“No, I ain’t told Madam Mae. Why should I? She don’t pull my strings.”
“She don’t pull mine either.” The bitch was getting to him, always making out he was hog-tied.
“Ha!” laughed Carrie. “Big man. Big Mister Whitejack. We-all know who runs the show ’round here.”
He glowered. “Well, you-all don’t know shit.”
“Ha!”
He grabbed her arm. “Don’t you give me none of your lip, you hear me, girl?”
“Hey,” she mocked, “don’t tell me I’m gettin’ to you. Not Mister Done-it-all, Seen-it-all—Mister Ice.”
He was on dangerous territory, but what the hell. Had to silence the bitch. He forced his mouth down on hers. Sucking, drawing at her lips, invading with his tongue.
She responded by clinging to him real tight, bringing her legs up around him so he could feel her body through the flimsy robe she had on.
He was nearly out of control, but his mind was still trying to figure out how he could do the deed without getting caught by Big Mama. She was out, but several of the girls were in, and if any of them wandered into the room… shee-it. You don’t expect to keep secrets in a whorehouse, do you?
“You gonna give it to me, big man?” Carrie was mocking him. “You know you want to. I can feel you want to.” Then she was fiddling with the buttons on his trousers. And he was letting her. And he was waiting for the moment she sprang it loose, and then he was going to give it to her like she had never been given it before. He had been actively fucking since he was ten years old, so she was going to get twenty long years of deliriously experienced cock. Lucky girl.
“Oooh, baby, baby, baby,” Carrie crooned lovingly, “you are… beau… tiful.”
She had shucked her robe off, and her smooth young body was all his. She still clung to him, and somehow, although they were both standing, he was inside her. And it was special. Oh, shee-it, was it special!
Nothing mattered. Nothing in the whole goddamn world. Nothing… nothing… nothing….
And then he was shooting his load in strong spurts. Coming like he hadn’t come for years. Blowing the top of his fuckin’ head off.
Shee-it. Carrie was right. It was time they both said goodbye to Madam Mae.
Carrie dragged on the long thin cigarette, a real heavy drag, causing the smoke to fill her lungs and her eyelids to droop. Marijuana. Some called it a drug. She called it instant relaxation and peace. A smile wafted across her lips, and she handed the cigarette to Whitejack. He dragged and handed it on to another friend.
They all lolled on cushions, Carrie, Whitejack, a couple of musicians, and Lucille, the midget hooker, who had insisted on coming with them when they split.
And what a split it had been! Spectacular!
Madam Mae had not taken Whitejack’s going lightly.
“You bad-assed nigger-whore-chasing sonofasyphiliticbitch!” she had screamed in a fury, the curls of her platinum-blond wig shaking with anger. “You walk on me an’ you is finished in this town. You hear me? Finished!”
Whitejack wasn’t fond of trouble. Why couldn’t they just part friends?
“Shee-it, woman,” he had begun.
“Don’t you go—Shee-it, woman—to me,” she had yelled, “with your sweet-talkin’ whinin’ wheedlin’ voice. I knows you, Whitejack. I knows you.” Her eyes were wild. “You leave here today with that dumb child whore, don’t you never set foot in my life again. When you get tired of sweet pussy, just don’t come crawlin’ back here for a taste of the real thing. You hear me, nigger?”
“I hear you. The whole block hears you.”
Whitejack had given up trying to be nice. He packed a suitcase of clothes and ordered Carrie to be ready to leave in ten minutes.
Madam Mae had stood in the hall, wig askew, arms akimbo. “Fool!” she had spat at Whitejack, as he made several trips down to his car with his many suits stacked neatly over his arm. “You bald-buzzard stupid fool! Where’ll you be without me? You’ll come crawlin’ back—an’ I’ll kick you right in your dumb cunt-lappin’ mouth!”
It was not the exit Carrie had imagined. She had wanted time to make plans. No way had she expected Whitejack to tell Madam Mae about them right off.
But Whitejack had figured she was worth her weight in gold, and why wait? He saw another fine ten years ahead, with Carrie doing all the work. She made him feel like he hadn’t felt in years. And if a hooker could make him feel like that, shee-it…. She must be worth money. Plenty. What a fortune they would make together!
It was quite an achievement getting Whitejack away from Madam Mae. He was the smartest pimp in the business, and that’s just what Carrie needed. She was pleased. What a fortune they would make together!
They had set off in Whitejack’s sleek white Oldsmobile, with Lucille, the midget, running down the street after them, begging to be taken too. “Why not?” They had both laughed, high on sudden freedom.
That had been two months previously. And in that two months they had accomplished nothing but fun. A lot of it. Good times, lazy days, and even lazier nights.
Carrie was confused. Whitejack was turning her on to pleasure. And one thing she had never known in her short hard life was pleasure. She had expected to go right to work, but he had different ideas. He rented an apartme
nt for the three of them, then said, “We are goin’ to take us a little vacation, just hang out for a week or two and have us some re-lax-ation.”
Whitejack’s idea of relaxation was a whole new world for Carrie, who had really seen nothing of life but the inside of a whorehouse and Welfare Island. He decided to broaden her horizons.
He liked to dress up real sharp, choosing one of his twenty-three suits, thirty shirts, and fifteen pairs of shoes. Before dressing he liked to bathe with drops of lady’s perfume in the water. Then he would shave his scalp and oil his bald head with pure olive oil. When he was groomed and ready, he would check out Carrie and Lucille’s appearance. He liked them to look outrageous. And that they did, for he had bought them dresses and silk stockings and high-heeled shoes in the brightest of colors, and he encouraged them both to pile on the makeup. The three of them would then set out on the town in the white Oldsmobile.
Whitejack’s hangout was 133rd Street. He was known up and down the street in various restaurants, speakeasies, and jazz joints. And he made new friends every night, because Whitejack was a generous man, and Whitejack was buying.
Carrie would sit quietly by his side, drinking in all the new sights and sounds. This was a whole other world that she had never even known existed. And when he turned her on to dope it made everything perfect. Because drugs were the answer. They dulled reality and put a sharp diamond spotlight on laughter and good times and having fun.
The three of them went out every night and came home in the early hours. Sometimes Carrie and Whitejack would make love. It was always hot and exciting and even began to get to Carrie, who had started the whole thing as a business venture.
Suddenly this tall bald man with the piercing eyes and sweet-talkin’ voice was her man.
Suddenly she forgot about business and reveled in her new life.
Suddenly she was in love.
“Carrie.” Lucille was talking to her through the haze.
Chances Page 11